


Spy Girls and Skinny Boys

by Hinn_Raven



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Homecoming, Homecoming Week, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny Steve, Spies & Secret Agents, SteggySecretSanta, Teenage Super Spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3061460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy Carter goes undercover in a high school, goes to Homecoming, and gets the boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spy Girls and Skinny Boys

**Author's Note:**

> for kissyoursassafrass for the steggy secret santa.
> 
> you wanted a High School AU and I delivered… with the slight twist of Peggy still being a secret agent.

Peggy’s alarm clock was set to go off at six thirty AM—a treat for herself, as a reward for beating her personal score at the shooting range.

Her best friend Natasha Romanoff woke her up at six twenty seven.

“I hate you,” Peggy growled, slamming her pillow over her head and screwing her eyes tightly shut.

“Shut up, Carter. We’ve got an assignment.”

That woke Peggy right up.

* * *

Officially, Peggy and Natasha were still in training—Peggy was only eighteen, and Natasha, although no one was exactly sure of her age, including her, was probably younger.

Unofficially, Peggy and Natasha kept getting sent out for training exercises which usually went started treating them like normal agents.

Phillips was Peggy’s foster-father, having taken her in when her parents died in the field ten years ago. He was also her and Natasha’s SO, which a lot of operatives had side-eyed, but Peggy and Natasha got results, so most people were smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

Sharon, who was Peggy’s fourteen year old niece, was waiting in the briefing room, squirming slightly in her seat.

Phillips was waiting for them, wearing his ill-fitting suit that Peggy had long since despaired of getting rid of. He only wore it when he was supposed to be impressing someone. Peggy’s eyebrow jumped up, curious.

“You three,” Phillips said. “Come with me.”

They all exchanged looks, all confused and curious. They fell into single file behind him, Peggy at the front, Sharon at the back, with Natasha between them.

Phillips walked them through the halls of SSR, leading them to a small room painted a pale blue, with a sofa and a table which were firmly attached to the ground. Sprawled on the couch were three teenaged boys, and hovering behind them in a worried manner was an older man.

Peggy’s eyes were first drawn to the metallic gleam of the brunette white boy’s prosthetic arm. He was rather well muscled and broad shouldered, but his hair was a ratted mess. He looked right back at her, a challenge in his face when her eyes flitted on his arm. He looked to be about seventeen, but he had dark circles under his eyes that made him seem older.

His non-metal arm was thrown over the shoulders of a tiny blond boy, who hunched down slightly on the couch, as if trying to make himself even smaller. He was pale and looked sickly, and Peggy spotted an inhaler clutched tightly in his hands. His features were pretty and delicate, and he looked like a strong breeze could knock him over.

On the other side of the skinny blond was a handsome black teenager, who seemed on edge, his eyes darting around, observing the three of them. His ears were pierced three times with gleaming gold hoops, and Peggy spotted parts of tattoos on his bare, broad shoulders. She directed her eyes away, although she had to admit she was curious—she thought they looked like feathers.

The man was even older than Phillips, with thinning, wispy white hair and rimless spectacles that he peered over as he examined them. His gaze was intelligent, evaluating them as they walked in. Peggy thought he looked familiar, but she couldn’t figure out where she’d seen him before.

“Doctor Eskrine,” Phillips said, “These are Agents Carter, Carter, and Romanoff. Agents, this is Doctor Eskrine, our head researcher for Project Rebirth.”

Peggy had to stop herself from gaping. Project Rebirth was the biggest open-secret in the SSR. She’d heard of Doctor Eskrine, but very few people had met him, for his own protection.

“And these are my foster-sons,” Doctor Eskrine said. His accent was German, his voice kind and protective. “James, Steve, and Sam.” He gestured to each of them in turn.

“Bucky,” James corrected, frowning. Peggy’s eyebrow raised at the nickname, but she didn’t comment.

“Doctor Eskrine’s work has come to the attention of Hydra,” Phillips said, crossing his arms. “Our informants inside Hydra indicated that they intend to use the boys to gain leverage over him.”

“Are we taking them into protective custody, sir?” Sharon asked.

“That would tip off Hydra that they have a leak, potentially endangering our agents,” Phillips reminded Sharon. “No, instead, we will be sending the three of you undercover.”

 _Shit_ , Peggy thought. _High School_.

One look at Natasha’s face told her that she was thinking the exact same thing.

* * *

New York PS 616 was in Brooklyn, and Peggy was horrified to realize that American public schools didn’t have a uniform. Natasha dragged her and Sharon shopping, and the three of them tried to construct their cover stories and plans of attack.

“I’ll stick with James,” Natasha said, tugging on her earlobe thoughtfully. “It’ll be ideal if we can all stick together, of course, but they don’t have all their classes together.

“I don’t see why we can’t arrange otherwise,” Peggy said, trying on a pair of jeans. “Agent Coulson has control of that sort of thing.”

“It would look suspicious,” Natasha said, throwing a blouse at her. “Here, try this one. It brings out your eyes.”

Peggy rolled said eyes, and obliged.

“I’ll take Sam,” Sharon said, holding up a bulky sweater against her chest and looking in the mirror. “His schedule looks like fun.”

“This isn’t supposed to be _fun_ ,” Peggy couldn’t help but point out.

“We’re going to be in high school, Peg,” Sharon said. “I refuse to sit through Steve’s art classes. I will break cover and shoot the teacher.”

Peggy sighed. “What art classes is he taking?” The blouse was too small. She exchanged it for a tacky-printed t-shirt that Natasha had also provided.

“Drawing,” Natasha said, examining the price tag on a skirt that she had picked up. “Should be fun.”

Peggy sighed. “Fine.”

* * *

The first day of the semester came around, and Peggy reluctantly boarded the tacky yellow school bus, Sharon right behind her. They were posing as sisters, simplifying their relationship to prevent questions. Phillips had assigned two agents with a passing resemblance to them to pose as their parents, and Peggy had undergone and arduous week of taking photos with them and Sharon to create photographic evidence for her new fake-Facebook.

Natasha was in the same boat, but Agents May and Fury were assigned to be _her_ fake parents, which simplified Natasha’s reporting process, seeing as both of them were undercover at PS 616.

Fury was Principal, with Coulson as his VP. Peggy felt that this was appropriately terrifying.

Apparently, Agent May was going to be the new gym teacher. Peggy was very grateful that she did not have physical education, thanks to Steve’s asthma.

Her first class was homeroom, and she carefully made her way there, conscious of curious eyes on her. She had chosen a red shirt and a black skirt for her first day, but now she was conscious of how tight the shirt was.

She didn’t sit next to Steve in homeroom, instead selecting a seat next to a small Chinese girl who introduced herself as Skye, but who the role-call identified as having the unfortunate name of “Mary Sue Poots.” Peggy did not blame the poor girl for picking a new name.

Skye seemed like a nice girl, if a bit over-interested in Mutants and Inhumans for Peggy’s comfort. She knew and worked with both on a regular basis and liked to think herself as relatively unprejudiced, but ordinary people being that interested in them rarely ended well.

Steve sat next to a scrawny, curly haired white boy named Bruce, who had bruises on his arm that he was trying to hide. Peggy shifted in her seat, reminding herself that it was none of her business.

The day proceeded as she expected—classes, syllabi, introductions, until lunch. Lunch was her last class with Steve before she switched with Sharon, taking over watch of Sam for a period, then Bucky for a period. The switch was supposed to guarantee fresh eyes on the situation, and also was supposed to throw off suspicion.

Peggy’s orders were pretty clearly stated to avoid suspicion and undue attention. However, she also was supposed to protect Steve Rogers.

This was the excuse she would later give Phillips, at any rate, when he would later demand to know why she punched Hodge on the jaw.

Hodge had grabbed Steve by the scruff of the neck and gripped tightly. Hodge was tall, muscular, and an asshole, and Steve was a skinny, short asthmatic under Peggy’s protection.

Peggy might have lost her temper.

She sat with Steve in the vice principal’s office waiting room, legs crossed primly and hands clasped in her lap. Steve had a black eye and a bloody lip, and was grinning, despite everything.

“Nice hook,” Steve complimented her.

Peggy smiled, not wanting to admit that she’d fudged the blow more than she’d wanted to so as not to shatter Hodge’s jaw. “Thanks,” she said instead, accepting the compliment.

“I like your shirt by the way,” he blurted, flushing.

Peggy looked down at her shirt, which was splattered slightly with the blood from the bloody nose that Steve had managed to inflict on Hodge when the brawl had fully broken out. Her knuckles were bruised and her own lip was cut, but Peggy had definitely fared the best in the fight.

She looked at Steve, battered and tiny and handsome in his own way, and felt herself flushing slightly herself. “Thanks,” she said again.

Agent Coulson peered out at them. “Miss Carter, Mister Rogers,” he called.

Peggy dropped that train of thought, and entered the office.

* * *

The next day, at lunch, Bucky Barnes sat down next to her, and grinned at her. “Anyone who hits Hodge is good in my book,” he declared, grinning broadly. Peggy raised an eyebrow, but accepted his presence as well as that of Steve, and ate her disgusting lunch.

Steve sat next to her in Physics, which made her want to grab him by the scruff of the neck and shove him away because of her _cover_ , dammit, but she supposed it was excusable enough seeing as she had stood up for him to Hodge.

American schooling was odd—especially seeing as Peggy was comparing it to her home school education, which included gun practice and computer hacking. Steve seemed to be doing fairly well, Peggy noticed, although he kept squinting at the board—he clearly needed new glasses.

“Here,” she muttered, slipping him her notes, including a careful transcript of the board.

He looks at it, and grins at her, the tips of his ears slightly red. “Thanks,” he mutters.

Peggy smiles back at him, and just nods.

* * *

High School has a numerous strange rituals and traditions that Peggy can’t quite figure out.

Case in point, Homecoming Week.

“Themed days?” Sharon said, squinting at Peggy’s elbow at the brightly colored poster on neon paper pasted onto the wall.

**PS 616 HOMECOMING WEEK**

**MONDAY: SCHOOL SPIRIT DAY!**

**TUESDAY: DRESS AS A TEACHER DAY!**

**WEDNESDAY: TWIN DAY!**

**THURSDAY: DRESS AS YOUR DATE DAY!**

**FRIDAY: PATRIOTISM DAY!**

**SATURDAY: DANCE!***

***Please Check the Main Office for Dress Code requirements and Code of Conduct**

“Is this normal?” Peggy asked Natasha, who looked at her, pointed at herself, and shrugged.

Peggy turned to Bucky and Sam, who had just approached them, and repeated her question.

“Oh _yes_ ,” Sam said emphatically. “Just be glad Patriot Day is as bad as it gets last year. I’ve seen Star Wars day, Michael Jackson Day, Great Gatsby Day…”

Peggy groaned quietly. “Is dressing up mandatory?”

“No,” Bucky reassured her. “But it’s fun!”

Peggy looked at him, disbelieving. “I’ll take your word on that, Barnes. Where’s Steve?”

“Gathering up his courage,” Bucky said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“What?” Peggy demanded.

“You’ll see in a second.”

Just then, Peggy was hit in the head with a paper airplane. Her head whipped around, and she saw Steve standing there, whistling innocently.

Slowly, she bent down to pick up the paper airplane, and unfolded it.

It was a drawing of her—she was laughing, her head tilted back, drawn with great skill and detail. Below, written in Steve’s familiar messy scrawl, were the words, _Go to Homecoming with me? –Steve_

Peggy looked up at him. “A paper airplane?” She demanded, crossing her arms, careful not to crush or crumple the drawing.

“So what will it be?” Steve asked, an impish grin on his face. “Come with me to Homecoming? Or do you want to risk me going with a Hydra agent?”

Peggy glared at him. “You are a bad man,” she said, but she couldn’t help but smile.

Steve grinned, unabashed.

“He’s a little shit, that’s what he is,” Bucky groused. “You know he still pretends to be technologically inept to drive Tony Stark up the wall?”

Peggy raised an eyebrow.

Steve grinned at her. “Does this mean you’ll say yes?”

“Very well,” Peggy acquiesced, “Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late.”

* * *

The first day was school spirit day. Natasha produced a great deal of PS 616 “Fighting Eagles” memorabilia from who-knows-where and cheerfully forced Natasha and Peggy into the awfully tacky red and gold.

Peggy sighed, and put up with a great deal of teasing when she discovered that a part of the memorabilia that Natasha had located for her included Steve’s letterman jacket (his letters were in clubs instead of sports), and put up with the ribbing with as much grace as she could.

Tuesday, Teacher Day, Peggy carefully greased back her hair and donned a suit, and had Sharon apply her makeup so that she was recognizably Phil Coulson.

Phillips laughed himself into a coughing fit, and demanded pictures, which Natasha was only too happy to provide.

Phil accepted the photograph with a grimace and a mild twitch of his eye. Fury took Sam’s eye patch and leather coat imitation with a great deal more grace.

Wednesday was Twin Day, so Peggy donned a blond wig and Sharon a brunette one, and the two of them proceeded to talk in unison for the rest of the day, much to Bucky’s ire.

Thursday was Dress as Your Date day, so Peggy lent Steve her shortest skirt and a pair of leggings as well as her favorite red blouse. Sam helped him apply makeup, and Bucky managed to find a pair of heels that fit Steve’s tiny feet. Peggy once again borrowed Steve’s letterman jacket and wore a pair of jeans as well as a big, paint splattered t-shirt that Steve usually wore as a smock for art class.

Sharon took a photo of them, and Steve pecked Peggy on the cheek, leaving a bright red lipstick mark. Peggy laughed, and mussed his hair.

Friday was Patriot Day, and Peggy was _prepared_.

Steve, however, one upped _everyone_. His whole outfit was red white and blue. He carried a shield with a star and stripes. He called himself “Captain America,” and nothing was funnier.

Peggy, to be contrary and _British_ , had managed to find a skirt made of a Union Jack and was wearing a second one as a cape.

“Captain America and Colonel Britain!” Was the caption on Facebook, and Peggy nudged Steve on the side. “I see I outrank you,” she murmured, and Steve just laughed.

“We already knew that,” he told her, and it was Peggy’s turn to blush.

* * *

Saturday came at last.

Despite Steve’s jokes—or perhaps they were threats—about picking her up on his motorcycle, Phillips and Eskrine overrode that idea with vehemence and instead sent the girls to pick up the boys in a SSR Jeep.

The six of them piled in, Natasha in the driver’s seat, with Sam riding shotgun and Bucky squashed between them. Peggy was sandwiched between Sharon and Steve, her legs pressed against Steve’s. She hooked her foot around Steve’s ankle, and enjoyed the sight of Steve blushing.

Peggy was wearing a bright red dress that she was pretty sure was vintage, to go with the dance’s theme of the nineteen forties. Natasha wore a similar black number, while Sharon wore blue. Steve, stuttering, had tied a red rose corsage around Peggy’s wrist before they had gotten in the car. She had pinned a rose to his lapel, and then carefully smoothed down his suit. His tie matched her dress, and she couldn’t help but smile at the small gesture.

They were about to turn onto the highway when Natasha yelled out.

“ _Hydra_!”

Peggy instantly pushed Steve to the floor, cursing as Natasha swerved the vehicle to avoid the figures on the road.

Sharon pressed a gun into Peggy’s hand, and Peggy checked the amo briefly before launching herself out of the car. “Stay with them!” She ordered Sharon, but did not wait to hear an agreement.

There were five of them, all armed, all white men, ranging in ages from mid-forties to a boy that Peggy recognized as being a kid from her Lit class. Peggy cursed—Phillips had been right about Hydra infiltrating the school.

Natasha struck first, firing off a shot, and then dodging return fire by ducking behind the other side of the heavily armored vehicle. Peggy shot at the leader, who was shouting at them to stand down (a fairly refreshing change of paste from “Hail Hydra”, if Peggy was honest). The guns all were trained on her, and Peggy rolled under the car to avoid them, scraping her knee as she did so.

Grimacing at the grease that was dripping onto her face and into her hair, Peggy grabbed her skirt and ripped, shortening the skirt to above the knee in order to give her more movability. She couldn’t see Natasha’s feet, and she gripped her gun tightly, trying to work out her next move. Above her, she could hear the car moving into defensive mode, and she grinned.

The youngest Hydra operative—Grant, that was his name—lowered himself down and moved close to check beneath the vehicle. Peggy slammed her open palm against his nose, shattering it. She then grabbed his hand that held his gun and twisted until the bone snapped and he dropped the gun. He cried out in pain and Peggy then pulled him down to the ground, his face colliding the concrete and knocking him out cold.

Peggy used Grant to cover her as she crawled out from under the car, shooting the next-nearest agent in the knee. Natasha had moved to hand-to-hand-combat, her garrote wire (which she had been wearing as a necklace) wrapped around the neck of the leader, who she was basically forcing to carry her piggy-back style.

Peggy fired another shot, hitting the gun hand of an agent aiming at Natasha, before charging forward, slamming her knee into his midsection and slamming the butt of her gun against his forehead, causing him to drop like a rock.

There was a faint, familiar whistle, and then the two remaining Hydra members went down, tranquilizing arrows in their shoulders. Peggy sighed in relief, lowering her gun.

“About damn time, Barton!” Natasha yelled, releasing the leader from the strangling cord. Pegged felt herself sagging slightly. It was over. Phillips would now be able to back-track these agents to the main cell and take them out. Steve was safe— _all_ of them were safe.

“Peggy!” Steve stumbled out of the car, wide eyed and pale. ‘Are you okay?”

Peggy looked down at herself. Her dress was ruined, ripped and covered in grease and oil, her hair was tangled and pulled out of the careful updo that Natasha had styled it in, her knees and elbows were bleeding, and there was blood on her hands. She smelled of gunpowder and car oil, and she didn’t even want to think about her makeup.

But she was alive, Steve was alive, the mission was complete, and everyone was safe.

Peggy grabbed Steve by the lapels of his suitcoat and pulled him up towards her for a kiss. Steve yelped, but after a second he was enthusiastically kissing her back, fingers tangling in her curls as he stood on tiptoes to meet her lips. Peggy kicked off her heels, easing their height difference, and pulled him closer, their chests pressing against each other. Her hands cradled Steve’s neck, and this was _fun_ , why hadn’t she started doing this weeks ago?

Peggy finally pulled away, and was pleased to see Steve looking dazed and mussed. Her lipstick was now smeared all over and around his mouth, and that was a sight that Peggy certainly wouldn’t mind seeing more often.

“We’re going to be late for the dance,” Steve blurted out, flushing brightly, keenly aware that the others had probably seen that from the car.

Peggy laughed, pulling him close by his tie, her fingers wrapping around the bright red silk. “Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me,” she purred before kissing him again.


End file.
